


The Heart of Erebor

by WanderingAlice



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alice shouldn't write in the car, Bilbo is the Arkenstone, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-25
Updated: 2015-01-25
Packaged: 2018-03-09 00:42:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3229805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WanderingAlice/pseuds/WanderingAlice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bilbo Baggins is a hobbit. He is also the Heart of the Mountain, more commonly known as the Arkenstone. As the spirit of Erebor, his duty is to protect the people that dwell within. He became attached to one young prince in particular. But when Smaug came he thought he would never see Thorin again. Thankfully, he was wrong. Unfortunately, their reunion doesn't go as he imagined.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, the first half of this was written on a very long car ride back from a meeting. Fair warning, it was also written on my iPad, and unedited. Chapter two should be up in a couple hours. Please let me know what you think. This may be proof that I should never write while on the road.

Bilbo doesn't know when his spirit was bound to the stone, or why. He does know that he is, or was, a hobbit, one of the small peoples that at one time lived quite near the ancient dwarrow kingdom of Erebor, long before they set even one hairy foot in the Shire. Perhaps he was buried on the mountain, or the victim of an evil curse, or, well, any number of reasons, really. He's fairly certain he was alive before he became bound to the Arkenstone, but those memories are hazy at best. His first true memory is from long after he had swum through the hard rock of the Lonely Mountain and into consciousness as what would come to be called the Arkenstone. He drifted for a time, as his rock was mined, and then polished, and then finally presented to the king. He can vaguely recall watching his stone being placed in the dwarrow king's throne, and the rituals that bound it to the mountain and the kingdom it contained. It was then that Bilbo truly woke, and woke with a purpose. His job became to be the caretaker of Erebor, to make sure his dwarrows were well, that the kingdom prospered, and the people within wanted for nothing.

He set about this task with great diligence, and soon found that he had many powers at his disposal to keep the kingdom running smoothly. By day he sat above the throne, insubstantial toes brushing his jewel, listening to the petitions of the people. By night, he walked through the kingdom, drawn to whatever needed his attention by a mysterious pull somewhere inside his heart. And in the early hours of the morning, when all by the latest of night owls and the earliest of early birds were asleep, he would make time for his own little garden. That garden was his treasure, and to make things easier on himself, over the years he crafted a small side entrance to the treasure room that lead down from his garden terrace. It relaxed and refreshed him, to be among green and growing things, in the same way that sleep served for the dwarrows beneath the stone. He loved his garden, but he loved Erebor more. It was his home, and he devoted himself to it with a will. 

Years passed in this manner, one king fading into another, until Thror took the throne. Bilbo didn't care much for Thror, or his son Thrain. They were well enough, as kings and heirs went, but nothing of particular note. Thrain II, Bilbo thought, hardly lived up to his namesake, the very first Thrain, who had found the Arkenstone centuries before, but his son. Well. His son was the one that Bilbo really took notice of. 

First of all, sometimes Bilbo got the sense that Thorin could see him. None of the other kings and princes had ever seen him before, save for once or twice, like the time during Thrain I's rule, when Bilbo had used much of his power to stop a cave-in just long enough for the dwarrows inside the cavern to escape. Thrain had arrived with a rescue party just before Bilbo's strength gave out. The king had looked at Bilbo, for just one moment, and bowed his head in thanks. That had been it, and Thrain I hadn't ever acknowledged him again. But Thorin, now, he seemed to see Bilbo quite often. As a child, he would play by his grandfather's throne, and sometimes he would look up and smile at Bilbo. 

And then there was the way that he was just so _good_ with his people. As he grew, Thorin took on many of the duties of his father and grandfather, and Bilbo suddenly found himself with less work. Thorin genuinely cared about his people, and went to great lengths to see them happy. He loved and cared for his kingdom, and Bilbo loved him for it. He found himself going out of his way to do things for the young prince, such as the bead he began to craft for his coming of age. 

Beads were traditional gifts among the dwarrows, given at important milestones in each dwarrow's life- birth, name-day, coming of age, and for courting. Bilbo had never taken enough of an interest in a future king before, to make a bead for their coming of age. Nevertheless, he found himself sitting on the floor of the throne room late one night, carving a bead carefully out of a small block of wood. There was something about Thorin, he thought, something special that the hobbit just couldn't,t put a finger on. He tried to define it as he worked, and came up empty. All he knew was that Thorin would make a great king. 

At last the bead was finished, a small, polished wooden piece of oak, carved with the intricate pattern that formed the crest of Durin. Bilbo held it up to the light, and frowned. Something was missing. He glanced around, trying to think of what else he could do, and his eyes landed on his stone. The heart of the mountain, they called it, the symbol of the king's right to rule. Surely, there would be no finer sign of Thorin's worthiness to take the throne than a bead containing a piece of the Arkenstone, made by the spirit of the mountain himself. Doing the funny mental twist that made him less substantial, Bilbo floated up to rest in the air in front of the throne and, with another wrench of his will, plunged a finger deep into the stone. It felt funny, like a tickling sensation throughout his whole body, but he kept at it until he latched on to a single thread of the blue-veined jewel and drew it out of the stone like liquid from a flask. This he carefully poured over his bead, concentrating as best he could, coaxing the contrary material (stubborn as Bilbo himself) into the channels he had carved for it. It took all of his concentration, leaving none left over to watch the room behind him. 

"What are you doing?" The harsh bark broke Bilbo's concentration and he jumped, floating several feet into the air before coming back down to rest on top of the throne. He turned, and there was Thorin, staring right at him. In one swift movement, Bilbo grabbed his bead, dismissing the thread of Arkenstone back to where it belonged, and turned again, adjusting his energy to fade into the stone at his feet. 

"Wait, please," Thorin called, softer. "I'm sorry. I did not mean to frighten you." 

Bilbo paused, already half dissolved into wherever it was his body went when he returned to his stone. Thorin was still staring at him, hands out in a gesture of entreaty. With a flick of his will, Bilbo was once again sitting atop the throne. 

"I've seen you before," Thorin said slowly. "As a dwarfling, when I would play next to my grandfather's throne. You would sit up there, and make faces at me to make me laugh. I believed I had imagined you." 

"Nope, you didn't imagine me," Bilbo told him. "Bilbo Baggins, at your service." The hobbit sketched a small bow to the prince. 

"Thorin, son of Thrain, at yours," the prince said. He didn't bow, but rather continued to stare at Bilbo in unabashed curiosity. "I'm sorry but, if I may be so bold, what are you?" 

"Good question." Bilbo floated down to sit on the arm of the throne, where he could better see Thorin's face. "I'm... Well, you people call me the Arkenstone. Bloody silly name, if you ask me, but I didn't pick it. Heart of the Mountain is a bit better, though no more accurate. I suppose... You could call me the spirit of the mountain." 

Thorin frowned thoughtfully at that. "But, ah, forgive me, but shouldn't the spirit of the mountain be a dwarrow?" 

Bilbo shrugged. "Maybe. But I'm not. I think my people are called hobbits, they live to the south of here now, I believe. I don't know how I got here, or why I am what I am, and, believe me, I've had centuries to puzzle over it. The only thing I can come up with is that Mahal thought that Erebor needed a caretaker. Of course, that doesn't explain everything, like why only you can see me." 

Slowly, Thorin nodded. "I see. So, you look after the mountain?" 

"And it's people," Bilbo nodded. "You wouldn't believe the disasters I've had to prevent. Or, maybe you would," he added, remembering the incident a few days ago in which Thorin's quick thinking had helped avoid a diplomatic incident with the elves, one that could have led to war. 

The prince grinned in response. "Maybe I do. When the food almost ran out last winter, and we found a storeroom we had forgotten about that lasted us until we could get a shipment from Dale, that was you?" 

Bilbo grimaced. "That took some doing. I can't leave the mountain, so I had to figure out how to get it all here, and where to take it from where it wouldn't hurt anybody. Most of it came from the private stores of the Master of Esgaroth. That man wasn't even going to share with his own people, if times got lean on the lake." 

"You... Stole from the Master?" Thorin was incredulous. 

"I was sitting right here when he denied he had anything," Bilbo said. "But I heard his people talk about his private stores, and how there was enough to last us, Esgaroth, _and_ Dale well into the spring if it needed to, only, he'd been saving it banking on a trade with the elvenking. So I, ah, liberated some of it. Nothing he was really going to miss, you see, just enough to keep us going." 

To Bilbo's surprise, Thorin threw back his head and laughed. "So," he said, when he'd calmed down, "you're not just a spirit, but also a burglar." 

Bilbo huffed in mock indignation. "I'll have you know, I happen to be a very honest person. I'd never have taken anything if he'd just given us what we needed. And I made sure nobody would starve because of what I took." 

Wisely, Thorin changed the topic. "So what about that mine collapse last month? The one that fell mysteriously when nobody was inside? We found rotten beams in the supports when we excavated it, you know. If it hadn't fallen when it did, a lot of people might have died." 

The hobbit nodded. "Aye, that was me. Just took a well placed kick, really. And I couldn't have it collapsing on some poor miner." 

"How'd you escape the collapse yourself?" Thorin wanted to know. Bilbo grinned. 

"I have ways," he said, and promptly faded through the throne and down into the floor. Thorin exclaimed in surprise. 

"Bilbo?" he called, when the hobbit did not immediately reappear. 

"Here," Bilbo said from behind him. Thorin whirled around, eyes wide. 

"How on Arda did you do that?" 

It was the start of a friendship that would last them both all their lives. When Thorin came of age, Bilbo gifted him with his bead, and the prince wore it proudly in his braids. Whenever anyone asked where he'd gotten it, Thorin just smiled secretively, and said the mountain itself favored his family. Bilbo would make a face wherever he was standing, and grumble that it wasn't the family he favored. At times the hobbit would act grumpy, or annoyed, but the truth of the matter was that he was the happiest he has ever been. At last, he had someone who loved the mountain as much as himself. Someone to show the secret, hidden wonders of Erebor, and with which to share a joy in the kingdom and people they both cared for. Bilbo prayed it could last forever. Alas, it was not to be. 

As the years passed, Thror fell deeper into madness. He sequestered himself away in the treasure room, glorying in his riches while his son and grandson ran the kingdom without him. Bilbo watched in fear and sadness, for he had seen it before, the gold sickness, and he knew what could come, if they were not careful. Never before had he seen a king fall to it, but wealth on this level, a true hoard of gold with the taint of sickness hanging over it, well, that could attract a dragon. 

And attract a dragon it did. The only warning Bilbo got was a noise like a hurricane coming out of the north, blowing down from the Forodwaith like an ill wind. And with it, came Smaug. All Bilbo's defenses were not enough against the last of the great fire-drakes. He stood by Thorin's side and watched in horror as his dwarrows were laid low, paralyzed by the fear-stench that issued before the dragon, then mowed down by his fiery breath. Bilbo threw all his power into great shields of stone that rose from the ground to stay the dragon, calling on the earth itself to protect his dwarrows. Rocks threw themselves from the mountain at his command, battling with Girion's black arrows to do the impossible. Bilbo grabbed Thorin's hand, anchoring them both into the rock beneath their feet, drawing power from his friend and the mountain that they loved, throwing it in a fresh surge against the dragon's onslaught. But Smaug proved too much for even the mountain's power. With a mighty roar, Smaug crashed through Bilbo's walls, and batted aside his boulders like they were mere flies. In moments, the hobbit knew he could not save the mountain. What he could do was save as many dwarrows as he could. 

He turned to Thorin then, and grabbed his face with both hands. "Go," Bilbo shouted. "Save our people. I'll hold it off as long as I can." 

"No!" Thorin's eyes were wild with fear, terror that grew into desperation at Bilbo's words. "Not without you!" 

Bilbo dropped his hands and stepped away, shaking his head sadly. "No. I can't leave the mountain." He had tried, many times, but he could never get even as far as Dale before he would find himself back in the throne room, hovering above the Arkenstone. 

"Then we take the stone with us!" Thorin surged forward, grabbing on to Bilbo's hands with both of his. "I will not leave you." 

"If you take the stone from the mountain, I'll die." How he knew that, Bilbo couldn't say, but the knowledge was engraved in his bones. His life was tied to the Arkenstone and the mountain. Without one or the other, Bilbo would cease to exist. 

"Bilbo..." Thorin looked devastated. They were about to lose everything, even each other. And in that instant, staring into Thorin's eyes, Bilbo realized one very important thing. 

"Go," he said again, though it was the hardest thing he ever had to say. "Go, and don't look back." Then, acting on a mad impulse coupled with his realization, Bilbo leaned forward and kissed his prince. It wasn't a perfect kiss, but harsh, born out of desperation and a revelation of love come too late. Thorin barely had time to moan into the kiss and press back before Bilbo shoved him away. "Go!" He put every ounce of command into the word, and, with one lingering look of regret, Thorin fled. 

Bilbo ran then, pulling people along, pushing them out, away, any direction he could send them to get his dwarrows out of the mountain. Some blessing, or maybe it was the power coursing through him as he pulled every last shred of energy from the stone, but they could see him now. He found Thrain in the throne room, staring at the empty hole where the Arkenstone had been, and for a moment Bilbo panicked- had Thorin tried to take it anyway? But no, he could feel it in the treasure room, under the greedy claws of the dragon. Thorin he felt now outside the mountain, getting further away with every step. Bilbo pulled Thrain from the hall, dragging him around the edges of the treasure room where the dragon was wallowing in the gold, and up and out his secret exit. At the door, he pushed the astonished dwarrow towards the stairs, before pressing the key into his hands and telling him to give it to Thorin. Then he turned and went back into the mountain, closing the door behind him. 

Bilbo worked through the night and well into the next day, searching out survivors and getting them out the secret ways before the dragon could find them and kill them. At last, he felt no more dwarrows within the mountain, and sat down to rest. That was when the enormity of what had happened hit him, and he curled up into a ball and sobbed. The emptiness of the mountain was like a physical pain in his chest, the absence of Thorin like he had removed a part of his own heart. 

Smaug never found him. Bilbo took care that he didn't, not wanting to know what a dragon would make of something like him. For the first few years, the hobbit worked diligently when the dragon was out on his frequent raids, finding the bodies of the dead, and returning them to the stone. He marked each grave with the name of the dwarrow it covered, and a small engraving about where and how they died. By the time he was finished there were thousands of graves. He closed off that cavern then, and did his very best not to think of all those voices who would sing no more. 

Years passed into decades, and still Bilbo labored to fix the damage the dragon had done to his mountain. As time passed, however, he grew weaker and weaker. He needed longer periods of rest, his powers were less effective, and required more energy. By the time a half century had gone by, he could not move even the smallest gem. A decade more, and he could no longer manifest himself physically. By the end of the century, he was a mere shadow on the walls. He drifted often, as he had in those long ago days before his stone had been found. Soon, his waking periods grew briefer, and eventually ceased. The dragon was alone in the mountain with the treasure and the dead. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we are, the conclusions! Again, this was written on my iPad, so feel free to point out mistakes. Thanks to everyone who commented and left kudos! I'm really surprised you all like this so much, but I'm so glad!

One hundred and seventy years after Smaug invaded, Bilbo woke with a start. Someone was coming. He could feel them, yes, _them_ getting closer with each passing day. Dwarrows. _His_ dwarrows, the people of Erebor. He felt them reach Mirkwood in his dreams, and sent some of his remaining power to help, reaching their leader in a dream and showing him how to escape. When his thoughts touched theirs, he was so startled he flickered full into being over the Arkenstone, right in front of the dragon's nose. Thorin. _Thorin was coming_ , and he still wore the Arkenstone bead Bilbo had given him when he came of age.

Each day saw the dwarrows, saw Thorin, closer. And each day sent Bilbo more of his old power. He began to ready the mountain for their return. In the years since the dragon had come, Bilbo had thought much on how to slay Smaug. Thirteen dwarrows could not hope to kill it, but maybe a town full of men could. Bilbo sent another dream to the descendent of Girion, warning him to be ready. It was only possible because the man was so firmly in touch with his land, and Bilbo hoped that, whoever this man was, his warning would be enough. There was a place on the dragon's breast where the scales had come loose from one of Girion's arrows, and Bilbo did his part, sneaking up when Smaug was deep in slumber and removing them to expose the only weak point the creature had. 

Then, he waited. 

Finally, he felt Thorin arrive in Lake-Town. Bilbo could almost sense his need to reach the mountain, his burning desire to return to his home. He wanted to go out to meet him, but he could not. His power was still weak, and he could barely move beyond the treasure room. Instead, the hobbit took to sitting on his little ledge, the garden long overgrown, and waiting for Thorin to come to him. He could not even open the door, but rather passed through it, insubstantial as a ghost. 

Then, Thorin came. And it was not at all like he dreamed. First, he used too much power trying to warn Esgaroth, and fell into a deep sleep, missing the arrival of his dwarrows to his secret door. He woke as the key was inserted in the slot, the hole shown to Thorin, as Bilbo had once taught him, by the moonlight of Durin's Day. He jolted awake, and rushed forward, only to come upon Thorin just inside the treasure room, staring at the massive hoard of gold. 

"Thorin," Bilbo called softly, needing to see if he remembered the true shade of blue in Thorin's eyes. "Thorin!" His prince did not move, did not even glance in Bilbo's direction. There was no indication that he had heard. 

"Thorin," Bilbo called again, cautiously moving towards the motionless prince- no, king. There was the braid of kingship in Thorin's hair, one of the few braids he still wore. Bilbo's bead was clasped at the end of it. Thorin did not react to his footsteps, or turn at the sound of his name. Bilbo tried to take his hand, to touch like he had been dreaming of for one hundred and seventy years, and his fingers passed through Thorin's flesh as if made of air. 

Cursing, and trying his hardest to firm himself up, Bilbo planted himself in front of his king, right between him and the gold. Thorin's eyes, blue as Bilbo remembered them, looked through him like he wasn't even there. Worse, as they fixed on the dragon-hoard, the hobbit could see the seeds of madness sprouting in them, just as they had in his grandfather. Bilbo choked back a sob. After all this time, Thorin had forgotten how to see him. Perhaps, Thorin had even forgotten he had ever existed. 

Bilbo acted quickly then, knowing he had to distract the dragon, lure him away, before his king did something stupid. Thorin had always been headstrong. In the grips of gold-madness, there was no telling what he would do. Bilbo ran down into the gold, grabbing the one thing he could still lift- his own stone. As his hands touched it, Smaug woke, already knowing a part of his hoard had been taken. He surfaced from underneath his nest of gold, and Bilbo willed himself as visible as he could, planting himself right before the dragon's great eye. 

"Hello, Thief," the dragon rumbled. "So you're the rat that's been running around my mountain all these years." 

" _My_ mountain, actually," Bilbo corrected. He forced himself not to look for Thorin, to see how the dwarrow would react to the dragon's appearance. He couldn't risk drawing Smaug's attention to the king. "I was here first." 

The dragon rumbled a laugh like stones grinding together, setting Bilbo's teeth on edge. "And where have you been, these many years? Why have you now come to claim your ownership?" 

"I've been making the mountain livable again. You did quite a lot of damage, you know. I had to fix it. And there were times when I was both here, and not here. When I traveled through the stone as if made of thought." This was how Bilbo had learned to talk to a dragon, reading through the library when he had the energy in hopes of finding a way to slay Smaug. 

"Traveled through stone, you say?" Smaug asked, fixing his gaze on the hobbit. "And how is this accomplished?" 

"Quite easily," Bilbo said, and, as he had once done before Thorin in the throne room, he melted into the floor, only to come up a few feet away. The melting was all too easy, the reappearance took far more energy, and left Bilbo a little faded around the edges. "It's a particular talent of mine, O Smaug the Calamitous." 

"I see. You are quite an intriguing creature. I have smelt man and dwarf and elf, orc and goblin and beast, but I cannot recall encountering your scent before. What are you, little thief?" 

"Me? Why, I am the mountain itself, and the heart of the mountain. I live as my people do, and I will not perish until the last of them has passed from this earth. I am as you see, and nothing at all. I can be air or stone if I so choose, and not even dragon fire will destroy me." That last was a gamble, of course. Dragon fire could probably destroy the Arkenstone, which would, in turn, end Bilbo. A quick glance upward proved that Thorin had moved back, into the shadows, but Bilbo could still sense him in the treasure room, and now others were coming to join him. This was not good. Bilbo wouldn't be able to keep the dragon distracted for long. 

"Pretty words," the dragon scoffed. "But I smell your allies. I know the scent of dwarf well enough, if I do not know yours. Your friends have come to take the mountain, have they not? Well, they may try." Smaug started to rise in a cascade of golden coins. 

In one last attempt to save his dwarrows, Bilbo shouted "My arrows will find your hear, O Smaug. My black arrows will bring you down!" 

Smaug paused. "Black arrows, you say? I begin to see. You are one of those lake men, in league with the dwarves. Well. We shall see how well your black arrows can protect you when your pathetic town is burning!" Then, like Bilbo had hoped, the dragon took off, propelling himself out the front gate and down towards Esgaroth. Bilbo sent a prayer to Mahal that the men of Lake-Town were ready, then turned to his dwarrows. They stood together now, all thirteen of them, staring up after Smaug. Thorin alone kept his gaze locked on the treasure, even when his companions pulled him back up the passage, to witness Smaug's attack on Esgaroth. 

Bilbo followed, feeling sick. He watched with the others as the dragon attacked the town, watched it burn the houses to the water line, and knew it to be his fault. Perhaps Girion had not left his descendants any arrows, or perhaps they had not been prepared. Whatever the reason, they died in fire. And then, the dragon fell. Bilbo felt Smaug's death, like an oppressive weight lifting off the mountain. Somehow, someone had gotten in a lucky shot, and Erebor was free once more. 

Thorin did not wait, once Smaug fell, to see what would happen to Esgaroth. He hurried back inside, directly into the treasure room. Bilbo followed, and tried once more to make his king hear him or see him. He failed again, and again, and again. Hours passed with Thorin searching the treasury for something, oblivious to Bilbo's attempts to reach him. The other dwarrows slowly trickled in to join him, and everyone was put to work searching for the Arkenstone. When Bilbo could no longer take any more, he left the treasury with his stone still in his pocket. Seeing Thorin, but being unable to be seen by him, it was almost worse than being alone. At least when he had been alone, he could drift. Now, with dwarrows back in the mountain, Bilbo was wide awake once more, and gaining strength. With the dragon gone, and so much to be done, to seek oblivion would be irresponsible. 

When Bilbo got a hold of himself and returned to the treasure room, he found the two young princes sitting up on one of the many upper levels, staring down at where Thorin paced, draped in furs and jewels. Bilbo had never known him to wear so much finery before- the dwarrow he knew preferred simple, practical garb that did exactly what it was meant to do. He had once told Bilbo that he thought Thror's extravagance unacceptable, and yet here he was, dressed in the very same fine cloak his grandfather had worn in the depths of his madness. 

"Oh, Thorin," Bilbo said sadly. Next to him, the princes startled and turned wide eyes on the hobbit. 

"Who're you?" the dark-haired prince asked. Bilbo blinked at him, and looked around to see who he could have been talking to. Finding no one, he turned back to see the dwarrows staring straight at him. 

"You can see me?" Bilbo asked, surprised. The princes nodded. 

"Why wouldn't we see you? You're standing right there," the elder prince wanted to know. Bilbo shrugged. 

"Most people don't, you know. Bilbo Baggins, at your service." 

The princes' eyes went even wider, and the older one said under his breath, "So it is true." 

"Uncle told us stories about you," the youngest prince said. "We thought he'd made them up, to go with the myth everyone was telling, about the little creature that saved so many dwarrows on the day the dragon came. You're really real, then?" 

"Well, I feel real, if that helps," Bilbo told him. "Though I suppose I'd be more real if everyone could see me." 

"Uncle's looking for you, you know," the younger, and clearly more talkative prince said. "He told us stories of you every night on the way here. He said the first thing he would do, once the dragon was dead, was to find you." 

Bilbo shook his head sadly. "No. If he were looking for me, he would have seen me when I stood in front of him when he arrived. No, I'm afraid, whatever his intentions may have been, he's looking for my stone now, and not for me." 

"Your stone?" the older prince asked, and Bilbo was really going to have to get their names. Calling them 'elder prince' and 'younger prince' was too much of a mouthful. 

"The Arkenstone," Bilbo said. "It's worth more than anything else in this hoard, and I fear it's what drives his madness." 

"Dragon sickness," the dark haired prince said sadly. "Balin told us." 

"Yes. I think- look, what are your names?" Bilbo asked. 

"Oh, our apologies," the older prince stood, tugging his brother up. "Fili and Kili, at your service," they said together. 

"Right," Bilbo nodded. "Fili and Kili. You both have the look of your mother." 

"Thank you," Fili told him with a small smile. Dis had been but a child when Smaug attacked, but a Bilbo had already known she would grow into a formidable woman. That these two were her sons did nothing to dissuade that thought. "I... Mr. Baggins, do you know how to cure Uncle Thorin?" 

"No," Bilbo said regretfully. "No, I don't." 

"Maybe if he had the Arkenstone..." Kili suggested. Bilbo considered it. 

"Perhaps... It might make things better. Or it might make him worse. I don't know." 

Fili turned back to look down to where his uncle was demanding the others search faster. "Do you know where it is?" 

"I have it here," Bilbo pulled it from his pocket. The boys' eyes widened again at the sight, and they made soft sounds of awe. Bilbo glowed a little in pleasure, after all, the stone they were admiring _was_ part of him. "I took it to distract Smaug when you lot just barged into the treasure room." 

"So that was you!" Kili exclaimed. "You drew the dragon off!" 

"And sent it on Lake-Town," Bilbo reminded him with more than a little regret. "I'm afraid getting the men to kill him was all I could think of at the time." 

"Still," Fili reminded him, "you saved us, and the dragon is dead. I'd say that counts for a lot." 

"I suppose so," Bilbo shrugged. Even if no one hd died at Esgaroth, he was in no mood to celebrate his victory- not when Thorin was still unable to see him. 

"So... Are you going to give Uncle the stone?" Kili asked, after a moment. Both princes were still staring at the white gem. 

Bilbo nodded. "I will," he decided. It wasn't like Thorin didn't already have all of him. And perhaps once the Arkenstone was in his possession, the madness would fade. And if it didn't... Well. Bilbo had a plan for that too. "But if it makes him worse, I won't hesitate to destroy it." 

The princes looked at each other, then back at Bilbo. "But... Won't that kill you?" Kili asked. "Uncle said your life was tied to the stone." 

"It will," Bilbo told them, "but I won't risk Thorin, not even at the cost of my own life." 

Once again, the princes looked at each other. "You would do that? For Uncle Thorin?" 

"Yes," Bilbo said without hesitation. He had thought a lot about it, while he'd been alone in the mountain- what he'd do if Thorin came back and succumbed to the madness of his grandfather. "I would. This stone... The hold it has over your people is unnatural. If it's the cause of this gold sickness, then it's best it were gone. Especially if it's for Thorin. He's too important for me to ever risk." 

"Wow," Kili breathed. "I, ah... So it's true then? You and Uncle?" 

The hobbit smiled sadly, remembering their one, brief kiss. "Yes. It's true. Or, well, it was. I don't know how he feels now." 

The pair practically fell over themselves to convince Bilbo that Thorin loved him, and, while it did make him feel a bit better, the sting of not being seen still gnawed at his heart. He didn't think he would ever feel right, until Thorin held him in his arms once more. 

"Alright," he said, when Kili promised, for the third time, that Thorin couldn't possibly love anyone else. "Alright. I'll ask him when he can see me again. But right now I'm starting to fade out, so we'd better get this over with, don't you think?" Bilbo was starting to feel shaky and insubstantial again, a sure sign he had used too much power, and he wanted to give Thorin the Arkenstone before he went to rest. 

Fili and Kili took the stone, marching into the treasure room with Bilbo between them. 

"Uncle! We found it!" Fili called, and eleven pairs of eyes turned to stare. Kili held the Arkenstone aloft, where everyone could see. Thorin rushed forward and snatched it from him, cradling it in his hands like something precious. 

"Well done," he said, almost to the stone instead of to his nephews. Bilbo held back a shiver at the feeling of Thorin's hands on his stone. "Where did you find it?" 

"Funny thing," Kili told him, "but those stories you told us, about the spirit of the mountain? Turns out they're really true." 

"Bilbo," Thorin breathed, caressing the stone. "Yes. This is his stone. And it is mine now. All of this-" he raised his voice, "is mine." 

Bilbo closed his eyes. The madness already held Thorin fast. He could only hope that it would fade, now that he had what he most desired. There was nothing else Bilbo could do. At that moment, the last of his energy drained away, and he disappeared back into the stone to rest. 

It was comfortable, to rest in the stone as Thorin held it. That was Bilbo's first thought as he swam back to conciousness. Slowly, he became aware of raised voices around him, his dwarrows, arguing. 

"The lake men gave us aid when we asked," Kili was arguing. "And in return we brought on them a dragon. We owe them reparation." 

"We owe them nothing," that harsh voice took Bilbo a minute to recognize as Thorin's. "Where were they, when Erebor burned? Why should I give them a single piece of my treasure, when any help they gave was only done for greed? I will not give them so much as a copper coin." 

"Thorin," that was the older white-haired dwarf, the one called Balin. "We gave our word." 

"And now they come to our door with an armed host. Tell me, how should that make me inclined to aid them, when they ask at the point of a sword?" 

Bilbo struggled to wake up fully, aware now of many people on the mountain's slopes. Elves and men, for the most part, camped where they could keep watch on the front gate. One now stood before them, Girion's descendant, the one Bilbo had sent the dreams of the dragon's weakness. 

"What say you, King Thorin?" the man called up to them, and Bilbo heard Thorin growl. "Will you aid us, or will it be war?" 

A chill went through Bilbo at the thought. Not again, not so soon after the dragon. He couldn't go through that again. _Please_ , he thought, _Thorin, please choose peace._

Thorin paused before answering, allowing Bilbo to hope. Maybe the madness was fading, and he would see the folly in war. But his hopes were dashed by his king's words. 

"I will have war." 

"No!" Bilbo shouted, forcing himself into full wakefulness, pulling in all the power of the mountain, as he had on that long ago day when he had fought Smaug. With a great wrench of his will, Bilbo shoved himself up and out of the stone, landing on the hastily constructed stone wall with a thud. In his panic, the hobbit shoved all of his power into his corporeal form, firming it up more than he ever had before. "No! Don't you do this to me again, Thorin, son of Thrain. I won't have it." To his later consternation, he pointed at his king and stomped his foot for emphasis. 

Thirteen sets of eyes trained on him. Only Thorin appeared not to see him, eyes still full of nothing but madness, and that just made it hurt all the worse. Bilbo shoved more power, magic drawn from deep in the earth, into his body, making it as real as any natural form. For this, he needed the strength of the mountain itself in his own limbs. "If you're going to war over my blasted stone, or any other worthless piece of that thrice-cursed hoard, then you are not the dwarrow I remember. And I won't allow it. This mountain has seen more than enough death for any age, and so long as I stand here, I'll prevent any more!" With that, Bilbo took the Arkenstone from Thorin's hands, holding it above the long drop from the top of the wall to the stone below where the man waited. 

"Bilbo!" Thorin's eyes finally, finally focused on him. But the gold sickness still shine bright in them, and now it was too late. 

"I'm sorry, Thorin," Bilbo said. "But I cannot watch you fall like your grandfather." 

A sharp intake of breath told Bilbo Thorin understood what he meant. "No, Bilbo!" Thorin reached for him, but the hobbit nimbly jumped out of the way. 

"I must," Bilbo told him. "Zayungi zu, Thorin." Then he threw the Arkenstone down with all his strength, and felt the stone shatter with every fiber of his being. 

It hurt. Eru, it hurt. And it continued hurting long past the time Bilbo would have thought he should have ceased to be. At length, Bilbo felt arms wrapped around him, holding him together while his stone lay in shards far below. They rocked him, and a mouth pressed to his hair whispered entreaties in a mix of Khuzdul and Westron for him to live, to stay. 

"Amralime," that familiar voice called him. "Kurdu 'abadazuh. Stay with me. Do not leave when I have just found you again." 

Bilbo blinked, carefully twisting in the dwarrow's grip to look up into blessedly clear blue eyes. "Thorin?" 

Thorin nodded. "I am here, kurdu 'abadazuh." 

"So am I," Bilbo said, with not a little surprise. "That's... Unexpected. How'd it happen, I wonder?" 

"I find I don't care," Thorin replied. "That you live is all I need to know." 

Bilbo reached up and touched his dwarrow's face. "You can see me again," he said, carefully touching Thorin's eyelids. "And hear me." He moved his hand to gently cup the curve of one rounded ear. "I was afraid you had forgotten me." 

"Never," Thorin promised. "Never, never, never." 

"Can I... I mean, will you let me kiss you?" Bilbo asked, shifting some more as, with every second, he felt less like he was ablut to shatter the moment Thorin let go. 

Thorin chose to answer without words, closing what little distance remained between them and ever so carefully pressing his lips to Bilbo's. Bilbo allowed it for only a second before he pushed back, harder, more insistent,making Thorin moan deep in his throat. 

They stayed that way for some time- Bilbo didn't know how long- until he gradually became aware of the sounds of fighting around them. He pulled back and looked up at Thorin. 

"You didn't... Did you?" he asked, and Thorin gave a slight shake of his head. 

"No, orcs attacked just after you threw the stone. The others are all fighting, but I would not leave you." 

"Well," Bilbo stood, "we can't have that, can we?" He reached inside for the power he had always called on, and found only his own strength and some lingering power from the mountain. 

Thorin came to stand at his side, surveying the battle field while gripping Bilbo's hand. And there, in their bond and in Thorin's blood descended from the very first dwarrows, Bilbo found the power he needed. He closed his eyes, feeling the mountain, feeling the battle that raged down it's sides, and called the earth to him. Sudden cries split the air as the stone itself swallowed orc after orc, searching out only the enemies, those who wished his dwarrows ill, and entombing them beneath the ground. There Kili fought a giant orc, and almost lost. Bilbo tripped it with stones, allowing the young prince to finish it off. Fili fought another, struggling to break from it's grip until Bilbo moved in, sinking the orc in mud up to it's waist, and Fili cut off it's head. Steadily he worked, leaning against Thorin, drawing strength from him, until the battle was won, and not one orc remained. Then he sagged, allowing Thorin to pick him up as his legs failed him. From around them came the sounds of cheering, but all Bilbo could think of was how being cradled by Thorin in his physical body was even better than being held in the Arkenstone. 

They discovered later that, with the shattering of the Arkenstone, Bilbo lost a great deal of his power. The wizard Gandalf arrived and examined him, and proclaimed that he should have died. That he did not was a miracle that could only be explained by the bond he held with Thorin, and the power he had put into his physical manifestation. Somehow, he had created a body so real that when the Arkenstone shattered, he was able to retain that form. His shape-shifting days were done, but Bilbo found he didn't mind. Because he was also mortal now, able to live the rest of his life with Thorin. 

And live they did, for many long years. Thorin's reign was hailed with gladness, and he would go down in history as one of the very best of the Kings Under the Mountain. But he didn't stay king forever. When Fili was ready, Thorin abdicated in his favor, and he and Bilbo traveled the world to see those sights the hobbit never could when he had been tied to the mountain. 

And as for the mountain itself, well, it got on alright without a caretaker, at least for a few decades. But when Thorin and Bilbo's natural lifespans ended, they did not go onward to the halls of waiting, but rather returned to the earth from which they had come, looking over their kingdom so that never again would the people of Erebor be driven from their home. And even now, if you find that particular mountain, you might just spy them roaming it's halls, taking care of their people. 

The End

Zayungi zu- Khuzdul for I love you 

Amralime- Khuzdul for "my love" 

Kurdu 'abadazuh- Khuzdul for "my heart of the mountain" ... I think. I tried to do it myself instead of asking around, since I promised to have this up tonight. Please tell me if I did it wrong! I'm by no means experienced in making Khuzdul phrases.


End file.
